’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured. He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise. If you love me, do not allude to this subject again. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Good-bye, aunt.
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